to be in Zaire or Bolivia as we speak. There’s no evidence that she’s dead, and nothing to show the body is her—’
‘They could compare hair or tissue, with DNA, if they had something of hers to work on. Old clothes, a car, anything really. Presumably you could come up with something?’
‘There you are, you see!’ she said triumphantly. ‘Why should we? We don’t want them to identify her. We’ve got nothing to gain by involving them.’
‘But—’ Drew had a sense of being caught in a tight and insoluble maze. ‘Does Willard know you think your mother is dead?’
‘We haven’t mentioned her for months. He’s got some new research project and thinks about nothing else. He’s trying to avoid real life these days. All because of this, of course.’ She ducked her chin downwards, indicating the pregnant bulge. ‘It horrifies him.’
‘But it is his?’ Drew asked boldly.
‘Yes,’ she said, with a girlish dimple. ‘It’s his.’
‘So – let’s stick with the scenario. The police turn up, ask him when he last saw his mother-in-law. What does he say?’
‘I told you. He’ll say, last July or thereabouts. At which time she said she’d be setting off on a new trip in a week or two.’
‘Where was she living then?’
‘In a basement room in a little Somerset town. I’ve got the address somewhere,’ she said vaguely. Drew noted the imprecision with suspicion. He found it hard to believe she didn’t know exactly which small town her mother had lived in. Genevieve seemed to notice his doubt, and gave a little laugh. ‘She was hardly there. She moved around so much, it was barely worth trying to keep track.’
‘Right,’ he muttered. ‘This isn’t getting us very far, is it?’
‘Oh, it is,’ she said earnestly. ‘It’s so wonderful just to be able to talk to someone about it. Someone I can trust.’
He had to say it. ‘Genevieve – why do you think you can trust me? After what I did to you over the house? Why do you think I won’t protect my own interest and go straight to the police, the minute you leave here? They might come knocking on your door this very afternoon.’
She met his eyes and he recognised the powerof the connection. He knew he was walking willingly into the trap she had set for him. ‘Because I haven’t told you enough to get you into any trouble. And – because you’re you,’ she said simply.
CHAPTER FOUR
Before Drew could summon up an adequate reaction, there was a brisk knock on the door and the sound of a man clearing his throat. ‘Sorry,’ Drew said to Genevieve. ‘But I’d better see who that is.’
‘No problem,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll mind the baby for you, if you like.’ She bent down to play with Stephanie as Drew opened the door. He stepped outside, closing it behind him, suddenly the discreet undertaker.
Although not in fact wearing tweeds, the man standing on the path outside was decidedly tweedy. A scratchy-looking moustache with eyebrows to match, walking stick and gruff tonesall combined to stereotype him. ‘You the funeral chap?’ he demanded of Drew.
‘That’s me.’
‘Do you do dogs?’
‘Dogs! Er – well, it hadn’t really occurred to me.’ He pulled himself together. ‘I don’t see any reason why not.’ His visitor cast an eye across the field; Drew supposed that this man too had read the papers, and knew what the far corner had revealed. The moustache was quivering.
‘We could fence off an area for pets,’ Drew said, thinking aloud. ‘There might be quite a demand for it, I suppose.’
‘How much?’
‘Um – I’d have to think about that.’
‘We’ll pay two hundred and fifty for the plot and another fifty for a suitable—’ The brisk tone suddenly failed, and the moustache was gripped between the man’s teeth. ‘You know – the—’
‘We could supply a receptacle,’ Drew told him. ‘I think that would be an acceptable price. What sort of dog is it?’
‘Labrador. Had him sixteen
‘They could compare hair or tissue, with DNA, if they had something of hers to work on. Old clothes, a car, anything really. Presumably you could come up with something?’
‘There you are, you see!’ she said triumphantly. ‘Why should we? We don’t want them to identify her. We’ve got nothing to gain by involving them.’
‘But—’ Drew had a sense of being caught in a tight and insoluble maze. ‘Does Willard know you think your mother is dead?’
‘We haven’t mentioned her for months. He’s got some new research project and thinks about nothing else. He’s trying to avoid real life these days. All because of this, of course.’ She ducked her chin downwards, indicating the pregnant bulge. ‘It horrifies him.’
‘But it is his?’ Drew asked boldly.
‘Yes,’ she said, with a girlish dimple. ‘It’s his.’
‘So – let’s stick with the scenario. The police turn up, ask him when he last saw his mother-in-law. What does he say?’
‘I told you. He’ll say, last July or thereabouts. At which time she said she’d be setting off on a new trip in a week or two.’
‘Where was she living then?’
‘In a basement room in a little Somerset town. I’ve got the address somewhere,’ she said vaguely. Drew noted the imprecision with suspicion. He found it hard to believe she didn’t know exactly which small town her mother had lived in. Genevieve seemed to notice his doubt, and gave a little laugh. ‘She was hardly there. She moved around so much, it was barely worth trying to keep track.’
‘Right,’ he muttered. ‘This isn’t getting us very far, is it?’
‘Oh, it is,’ she said earnestly. ‘It’s so wonderful just to be able to talk to someone about it. Someone I can trust.’
He had to say it. ‘Genevieve – why do you think you can trust me? After what I did to you over the house? Why do you think I won’t protect my own interest and go straight to the police, the minute you leave here? They might come knocking on your door this very afternoon.’
She met his eyes and he recognised the powerof the connection. He knew he was walking willingly into the trap she had set for him. ‘Because I haven’t told you enough to get you into any trouble. And – because you’re you,’ she said simply.
CHAPTER FOUR
Before Drew could summon up an adequate reaction, there was a brisk knock on the door and the sound of a man clearing his throat. ‘Sorry,’ Drew said to Genevieve. ‘But I’d better see who that is.’
‘No problem,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll mind the baby for you, if you like.’ She bent down to play with Stephanie as Drew opened the door. He stepped outside, closing it behind him, suddenly the discreet undertaker.
Although not in fact wearing tweeds, the man standing on the path outside was decidedly tweedy. A scratchy-looking moustache with eyebrows to match, walking stick and gruff tonesall combined to stereotype him. ‘You the funeral chap?’ he demanded of Drew.
‘That’s me.’
‘Do you do dogs?’
‘Dogs! Er – well, it hadn’t really occurred to me.’ He pulled himself together. ‘I don’t see any reason why not.’ His visitor cast an eye across the field; Drew supposed that this man too had read the papers, and knew what the far corner had revealed. The moustache was quivering.
‘We could fence off an area for pets,’ Drew said, thinking aloud. ‘There might be quite a demand for it, I suppose.’
‘How much?’
‘Um – I’d have to think about that.’
‘We’ll pay two hundred and fifty for the plot and another fifty for a suitable—’ The brisk tone suddenly failed, and the moustache was gripped between the man’s teeth. ‘You know – the—’
‘We could supply a receptacle,’ Drew told him. ‘I think that would be an acceptable price. What sort of dog is it?’
‘Labrador. Had him sixteen
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